


I call it...CUNT

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sex swap, boy stiles with a cunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 14:17:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six days is a long time to go without an orgasm. A really, really long time. </p><p>Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I call it...CUNT

**Author's Note:**

> For ages, I've been asking twitter for a fic where Stiles gets a pussy and Lydia has to teach him how to work it. Since no one delivered, I got up at 1:30 in the morning and wrote it. I don't know. I tried to tag this sex swap, because it is not gender swap (stiles is a dude the whole time, he just has lady parts LUCKY HIM) but the tags are one in the same, so if you're looking for gender swap, this is not that. 
> 
> Um. Un-betaed, because it is three in the morning. Title from Vagina Monologues. I almost called this Pussies Unite. Ah well, maybe next time.

Six days after Stiles gets whammied with a vagina, Lydia saves his life. It’s not even metaphorical or hyperbole, Lydia literally saves his life, because the third time Stiles yells right in Derek’s face, it’s a wonder Derek doesn’t just knock him unconscious. Or dead. 

Stiles is being a dick; he’s well aware of that. The problem, of course, is that Stiles doesn’t actually have a dick, not anymore. Not since that damn witch swapped it for a vagina and now Stiles hasn’t gotten off in six days, which to a teenage boy—even one with a vagina—is a really long fucking time. 

“You reek,” Derek tells him. “Go. Just—“ He points vaguely and shakes his head. “Go. Come back when you aren’t going to knock us all with sexual frustration.” 

“Six days,” Stiles whines, but no one cares. No one except Lydia, anyway, because she shows up at Stiles’ house an hour later dragging an enormous shoulder bag and saving Stiles’ life. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles squeaks, “I’ve got temporarily insane. You want to what now?” 

“I’m going to teach you how to get yourself off,” Lydia explains matter of factly. “Before someone kills you for being an asshole.” 

She drops the bag on the bed and pats the mattress. “Pants off. Let’s have it.” 

It’s…nothing like the fantasies he’s harbored for ages now, but this is Lydia Martin, in his bedroom, touching his bed and offering to touch his junk. It may not be the junk he’s familiar with, but it’s the junk he’s got, and Stiles may be an idiot, but he’s not an _idiot_. He flings himself on the bed and scrambles out of his pants. He pauses at his boxers, fingers the waistband of them. 

“Um.” 

Lydia tosses her curls over her shoulders and unzips her bag. “You’re going to get shy on me? Now? You?” 

It’s a fair point. Stiles slides out of his underwear, and then he’s sprawled on his bed in just a t-shirt with Lydia sitting between his thighs. Heat races all over Stiles’ body, and he feels that tiny niggle of arousal that usually means his dick is going to start fattening up soon. Now, though, it just makes him want to rub his thighs together and squirm. 

Lydia looks him up and down—she hasn’t even taken her heels off yet. “You’re keeping the shirt on?” 

“I…shouldn’t I?” 

“I don’t know,” Lydia says. “Are your nipples hard?” 

Stiles wheezes and nearly knocks himself out on his headboard. “Lydia, fuck. You can’t just—”

“Do you or do you not want to have an orgasm?” 

“Very much yes,” Stiles chokes out. 

“Then lose the shirt.” 

Stiles struggles out of his shirt, suddenly made of nothing but elbows and awkwardness, and drops it off the side of the bed. He has to force himself not to wrap his arms around his chest, because while he hasn’t exactly grown breasts, his nipples are larger and puffier somehow, and the cold air on them makes them harden up in a way that isn’t entirely pleasant. Stiles wants to rub them with the pads of his fingers. 

“Okay,” Lydia says, touching the inside of Stiles’ leg with one hand and rubbing her thumb along his shin. “First things first, this is your body. You’re allowed to do whatever you want with it.” 

Stiles forces himself to nod. His first thought upon being vagina-whammied was _awesome_. Unfettered access to a pussy and all the time in the world to explore it. Well, at least two weeks, until the next new moon. But it hadn’t taken Stiles long to realize that pussies in porn? Not at all like pussies in real life. His is dry and weird, until it’s slick and weird, and for the past six days Stiles has been stumbling around it like a man both drunk and blindfolded. 

“So touch it.” 

Stiles startles, raising his eyebrows at Lydia, who, god love her, doesn’t seem at all phased by Stiles spread out naked in front of her. “Sorry?” 

“Touch it. Show me what you’ve been doing.” 

“Oh my god,” Stiles whines, but…fuck, he needs to get off so fucking bad. He’s been in a perpetual state of horniness for the better part five years, but the past six days have been nothing short of torture. He’s never wanted to come more than he does right now. So he reaches down—“I suppose it would defeat the entire purpose to ask you to close your eyes?”—and touches his cunt. 

He’s still got as much hair as he ever did, though it seems silkier now. His fingers catch and tug, and that squirm of arousal flares again, making Stiles try to bring his thighs together. 

“Nope,” Lydia says, pushing his thighs apart. “I’ve got to see, Stiles.” 

“Right,” Stiles breathes, and he shuts his eyes and parts his cunt. 

Lydia makes a soft, humming noise. Her hair tickles Stiles’ thigh as she leans forward. “It’s really just a regular cunt, isn’t it?” 

“I guess? I don’t have that much experience with them.” 

He feels the bed shake as Lydia laughs. Her hands are gentle on his thighs, and it emboldens him somehow. He slides one finger down into his slit, boggling at how it’s already so slick and hot. He holds himself open with his index finger and ring finger, and lets his middle finger push into the wet heat of his cunt. It feels good, but in a distant sort of way, so Stiles puts his other hand between his thighs and pushes two fingers into himself. 

“Whoa,” Lydia says, quickly catching his wrist. “Slow down. It’s not a dick, okay, you don’t just jump in and start jerking it.” 

Embarrassed and frustrated, Stiles starts to pull away, but Lydia holds fast, her tiny hands on his wrist and his leg. Stiles’ chest heaves; the room is so quiet and chilly. Stiles wishes he was under the blanket. 

“Can we just—“ He tugs at his sheets until Lydia gets the picture and shifts her weight so he can tug the blanket free. 

“Oh Stiles,” she says, and when he opens his eyes, he finds Lydia standing and toeing off her shoes. Her shirt follows, then her shirt. She reaches behind herself and flicks open her pale pink bra, which falls to the floor. 

Stiles chokes on absolutely nothing at all. “Holy shit,” he squeaks, feeling his cunt pulse beneath his fingers. He forgets the blanket, gaping at Lydia and wishing he had about twelve pairs of eyes. “Lydia.” 

“Equal opportunity nudity, yeah?” She climbs back into the bed, kneeling over Stiles and reaching for the blankets. She tugs them up over their legs. 

“Okay,” Stiles chokes out. Lydia Martin is in his bed. Naked, save a pair of tiny pink panties. His cunt is swollen now, swollen and dripping wet beneath his hand. Stiles grinds down against his palm. “Holy shit, can I touch you?” 

“Can I touch _you_?” 

“That is the dumbest fucking question anyone has ever asked me.” 

Lydia grins and scoots closer. “Now. Keep going.” 

Stiles whimpers, lets his gaze rake all over Lydia’s face; he reaches out to touch the fullness of her mouth, but catches himself halfway there. No fucking way is he touching Lydia’s face with his hands all wet and slick from his pussy. 

“I—sorry, is this really happening?” 

Without answering, Lydia drags a hand down Stiles’ stomach, pushing through his curls and cupping his cunt. Then—oh god, Stiles could die a thousand deaths and they’d all be worth this moment—Lydia leans over him and presses her mouth to his nipple. 

“Fuck,” Stiles squeaks, eyes rolling back. “OH my fuck, holy fucking god, Lydia, holy god.” 

Her mouth is quick and clever, her tongue coming out to lick Stiles’ nipple, her bottom lip dragging across it with it hardens beneath her touch. She sucks him for a moment, not nearly long enough, and he hears himself groan when she pulls away. “See?” she says softly. “Don’t just start humping your hand, not when everything else is so…” She touches her mouth to his other nipple. Stiles bucks up under her touch. 

It goes on for long minutes, Lydia mouthing at his tits, rolling them on her tongue and biting them gently, then with more force when Stiles groans and arches up, pushing himself up against her face. Her hair is falling in silky curls all over his chest and Stiles wants to just wrap it around his dick and jerk off all over himself. 

“That’s fucking incredible,” he says eventually, when he can force his mouth to form words. 

“Yeah?” Lydia presses a soft kiss to his breastbone. “How’s your pussy?” 

It says something for Lydia’s mouth that Stiles hasn’t realized until this moment that Lydia has two fingers working gently against the swell of his cunt. It feels better than anything he’s managed to do to himself in the past six days. He groans, legs falling open. 

“I want—”

“Yeah,” Lydia says. “We’re getting there.” 

She sits up, the covers falling to her hips. Stiles can’t do anything except pant up at the ceiling and stare at Lydia’s breasts, swinging over him as she reaches across him for her bag. She opens it, grins at Stiles, and pulls out a purple vibrator. 

“Your new best friend,” she tells him. 

Gaping, Stiles shifts so Lydia climb back between his legs. “Is that—is that yours?” 

“I washed it,” she says, like that’s even remotely what’s racing through Stiles’ brain. “Now.” She thumbs it on and, without warning, presses it against Stiles’ cunt. 

“ _Holy god_ ,” he shouts, shooting up off the bed and scrambling backwards. It’s a mistake. He realizes that as soon as he’s away from the holy wonder that is Lydia’s vibe. “What the fucking shit, oh my god.” 

Lydia arches one perfect eyebrow and tugs at Stiles’ leg. A moment later, he’s sprawled on his back with his thighs spread as far as he can get them while Lydia drags the vibrator over his clit. 

“There there there,” he moans. Lydia laughs delightedly and moves the vibrator away. 

“Where, exactly?” 

“There,” he says, holding his pussy open for her. “My clit. Lydia, please.” 

“Show me where.” 

He jams his finger down on the spot where Lydia had been pressed, the tiny spot that’s he somehow been missing all this time. His entire body shudders as he touches it. 

“Yeah,” Lydia says. “Show me.” 

He rubs himself desperately, eyes squeezed shut. His hips are restless, jerking without rhythm as Stiles grinds his hand against himself. “I want…something.” 

“What?” Lydia asks, knocking his hand out of the way and rubbing the vibrator against his clit once more. “What do you want?” 

“Something—” Stiles flushes. It’s a feeling he’s never known before, but he’s too far gone to care about how it sounds, or what it says about him. “Something _in_ me.” 

Lydia gasps and just like that, her slim fingers are pressing up and into Stiles. They spread him open and fuck into him in quick thrusts. “Yeah?” Lydia asks, and when Stiles grunts and nods, Lydia drives into him again and again, warm and hard and so fucking good that Stiles feels his orgasm—finally, fucking finally—start to curl up his spine. 

“Don’t stop,” he demands, grabbing Lydia’s wrist and forcing her fingers back inside him. “Don’t stop, oh god.” 

“You gonna come for me?” she asks breathlessly, and Stiles loses it. He bucks up, moaning, coming his fucking brains out all over Lydia’s hands. It starts in his cunt, radiates out in pulses until his legs are shaking and his toes are literally curling. He folds up off the bed, nearly braining Lydia, but she’s half a step ahead of him again. She drops the vibrator and catches Stiles by the curve of his throat, pulling him into a desperate kiss. It’s all teeth and tongues and hot breath. Stiles clenches down on Lydia’s fingers, still coming. 

When it ends, Stiles collapses back on the bed. He laughs breathlessly and covers his face. “Lydia.” 

The bed shifts as Lydia climbs off. There’s a rustle of clothing and Stiles stomach drops. He keeps his eyes covered so he won’t have to watch Lydia pulling her clothes back on.  
But then the mattress dips again and Stiles lifts one hand to see that Lydia has stripped off her panties and is climbing back onto the bed. She tosses her hair over her shoulder and swings one leg over Stiles’ chest. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Incredible,” Stiles says honestly. His hands come up without his permission and wrap around Lydia’s thighs. Her skin is so soft and smooth. Stiles can’t help dragging his palms down her legs and then back up again. 

“Good lesson?” 

“Very.” 

Lydia bites her lip and knee-walks up Stiles chest. Stiles mouth falls open as Lydia braces herself on his headboard and hovers above his face. Her cunt is right there, glistening. Stiles tips his head forward and presses a soft kiss to it. 

“Time to show me what you learned,” Lydia murmurs. 

And Stiles—yeah, Stiles was right. Cunts are fucking awesome.


End file.
